


Origins

by BardicRaven



Series: Furr-ther Tales of the Grinch [1]
Category: How the Grinch Stole Christmas! - Dr. Seuss
Genre: Gen, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardicRaven/pseuds/BardicRaven
Summary: The Grinch wasn't always this way.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fenellaevangela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenellaevangela/gifts).



Once, back in the beginning, the Grinch was a Who like every other Who down in Whoville. Except, not really. Even then, he was different.

He stayed in his house, mixing who-knew-what concoctions in his back-room laboratory. No harm in it, just simple curiosity about the world and how it worked.

But Whos are people too, and one thing that many people have in common is a distrust of the strange. The Whos weren't sure what to make of this Who who didn't do a lot of things they found important.

Didn't attend the _bezurka_ festival, didn't carve _timtookas_ for the winter hollydays, didn't even come out and help to decorate the tree for Christmas, for Goodness' sake!

And never once did he sing a carol around that same tree. At any season.

So it might at least be understood, if not entirely forgiven, that the Whos drifted away from the Who-who-would-become-the-Grinch.

Not literally, mind, but in their hearts, their minds, which is much harder to bear.

Much harder to ignore.

They stopped asking him to the _bezurka_ festival, they no longer noticed that the _timtookas_ never came from him, they even forgot that he was supposed to help decorate the tree.

And never, not once, did they remember to invite him to come sing around it. At any season.

It was in that time that the Grinch's heart began to contract. It grew smaller and smaller and the more the other Whos ignored him, the smaller it got.

As his heart grew smaller, his face, his form, changed. He grew taller, as he sought to rise above the criticism-by-omission. His furr grew green, not white. Some say it was from pure jealousy, and for all I know, they might be right.

In any case, it made his neighbors shun him all the more, leaving him plenty of time and space for his experiments.

He thought he was happy, having all this extra time to himself to use as he pleased, but he was not. There was an odd loneliness to the days now that he hadn’t expected. At the same time, his experiments never rejected him, never gave him strange looks or thought his ideas strange. Never wondered why he was doing them instead of attending the _bezurka_ festival or carving _timtookas_ , or decorating and un-decorating a tree that didn't need any of it.

And they certainly never wondered why he never sang to them.

* * *

Eventually, not through any specific incident, but rather the death of a thousand-thousand little snubs, it was decided that the village, and the Grinch, would be far happier if they lived apart.

It was decided in a town meeting, but truly, it had been decided in the Grinch’s heart long before.

The meeting just made it official. What everybody had been thinking, would now become reality.

They asked him where he wanted to live. He snarled at them in anger and hurt, that if they didn’t want him there any more, he live at the top of Mount Crumpet rather thaan stay one more moment in the village.

The villagers were all-too-happy to agree with him.

Mount Crumpet it would be. There was an abundance of space, after all, as long as you didn’t mind a multi-story house with sharp levels and an even sharper drop-off just outside.

He’d have plenty of space and the weather wouldn't actually be that much worse than it was down in Whoville.

At least not in winter. In summer, well, that was a different story, but by then, no-one much cared about that, Grinch or villagers. They all just wanted this done as soon as possible.

The villagers tried to make some amends for their un-neighborly attitudes and actions. They offered to give him whatever he would need to live successfully on the mountain. They even offered to help him take his goods up the side of Mount Crumpet. They even offered to help him build his laboratory living-space right up there at the tippy-top.

But he rejected them as thoroughly as they had rejected him and built his own laboratory living-space, carried his own goods up the side of Mount Crumpet, with only a team of dogs and a ramshackle sleigh, both cast-offs from the village supplies.

Once up there, he settled in. Built kennels for the dogs. Built a laboratory for his experiments. Made his living-space into a home as best he could, when it wasn’t so much a home as an escape.

Took the ramshackle-sleigh around to the other side of Mount Crumpet for those things which he could not build or raise himself.

Lived a peaceful, if not happy life.

* * *

Until the day when it all got to be too much. He'd been living on the top of the mountain for a long time now. Saw the Whos down in Whoville change, grow, die. He saw babies turn into children turn into adults turn into elders turn into corpses, to be buried with honors in Who's Field.

He saw the circle of life in its entirety from his vantage point on the top of Mount Crumpet. He didn't mind being on the outside of it all.

He really didn't.

That's what he told himself.

And usually, he believed it.

But today, he did not.

Today, he looked down on the Whos down in Whoville and was angry. Angry at the blithe way they went about their days as if he didn't matter, as if he didn't even exist for them. Angry at the lights on the tree, the spka-sparkly ornaments that he could see glittering even from up here. They mocked him, he thought. All those sparkles mocked up at him, every one.

They mocked him with their brightness. They mocked him with their company and their peaceful companionship. They mocked him with their beauty.

And all the while, he felt his heart grow smaller and smaller, until it barely felt like he had one at all.

And when his heart had shrunk to that small stone, turned black as the coal he burned for warmth, he knew exactly what he would do.

He had an idea.

An awful, Grinch-ly idea.

An idea that would let him pay them back in full for everything.

He grinned a Grinch-grin at the one dog that remained to him after all these years. Yes, he would show them all.

* * *

**Epilogue**

You know how the story goes from there, of course. The night of rage and redemption.

The night that ended up with a regrown heart, and a triumphant Grinch sitting at the head table, carving the Roast Beasas-Beast the next day. His dog, sitting at his feet, also an honored guest.

The day that the Whos down in Whoville, took a look and decided that, for all his change of face and form, he was still one of them. Still someone to be honored and included, even if he never did carve a _timtooka_.

* * *

  _Welcome, welcome, all who draw near._

_Welcome! Sing of hollyday cheer._

_Welcome, welcome! Hollydays dear._

_Welcome, welcome, all who are here!_

May we remember that this hollyday season and always. May we remember grace and forgiveness, love and compassion, inclusion and celebration. May we encourage each other to grow our hearts by at least a size or two, no matter how large or small they may be.

May we remember the celebrations. The people, the love, the happiness shared and gained. The gratitude for the sun's return and the possibility of another year to come.

_Welcome, welcome! Let’s bring a new year!_


End file.
